The Wandering Rocks
by 3rdplanet
Summary: An inherited library card turns out to be much more trouble than Hermione imagined. Temporally challenged, she finds a bit more than she was ever looking for. TR/HG
1. i was a flower of the mountain

**Authors Note**: Okay, so welcome to my first attempt at a Tom/Hermione story. This is going to be a bit confusing, and I don't have it completely planned out yet…but hopefully it will be okay. If I decide to continue. This is probably stupid of me to put up since I already have two other running stories up but oh well.

Anyway, I would also just like to note that it occurred to me while writing that the story may bear some resemblance to 'Masters of Manipulation' by Nerys, just because of the randomly time travelling thing. However, that's pretty much the only similarity and it is all pure coincidence. Plus, anything she writes will always be infinitely better than mine and so much more creative anyway.

So er. Yes. That's it. First Tom/Hermione, don't know what I'm doing, confused, hoping for some feedback (reviews, wink wink?), etc. Onward!

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chapter one: i was a flower of the mountain

_March 15, 2097_

An elderly man sat alone in a room, absent-mindedly twirling his holly wand between his fingers. He was quietly musing about years ago and the people lost to them. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud CRACK as a teenage girl with messy brown curls tumbled onto his floor.

He merely smiled, "When are you coming from?"

The girl dusted herself off as she sat back on the floor and surveyed the old man.

"Last in 1945, it was winter there. It always seems ironic that I've found a sort of permanence within my temporal fluidity. When am I?"

The man settled back in his wooden chair, "March, 2097. It's been awhile, Hermione."

She smiled at him, her old friend. Her keen eye immediately picked up a forlorn look on his face; this would be one of their last visits for him. She knew.

"How is he?" the man asked.

Hermione sighed, "He's fine, at the moment. It's so difficult to- he's so difficult. I never know. I'm sorry for everything, I'm sor-"

"Hermione," he cut her off, "I trust you. You don't need to seek my forgiveness, you'll do what is right. I've missed you." He wanted to tell her the truth, what she did, the future he lived in now.

Hermione choked back a sob as tears started to fill her usually calm eyes. Before she could speak, however, she began to feel the familiar sensation of being ripped unwillingly through time.

"Harry!" she cried out, throwing her arms around his aged neck and whispered, "Thank you, I love you."

Harry felt the girl slipping away in his arms, forced to be pulled through time again.

_Always_.

Swallowing, Harry James Potter crossed off a date on a sheet of parchment next to him, the last on the list. He closed his eyes and prepared himself to die. Time was nothing.

* * *

_July 31, 1997_

Hermione Granger was puzzled. That, actually, was an understatement. She had received a book from Dumbledore, Tales of Beedle the Bard. Firstly, Hermione reasoned, it was rather bizarre that Dumbledore would leave anything to Hermione to begin with. While she had greatly admired the man and they had shared a few deep conversations, their relationship was nowhere near as intimate or friendly as the great wizard had been with Harry. So _why _did he leave her this old book?

Hermione bit her lip as she inspected the gift. It seemed normal enough. She carefully slid her fingers over the aged cover, exploring each inch of leather with careful attention. Nothing. There had to be a reason beyond giving her a book of fairy tales, she was sure of it. Sighing, she set the book down beside her on her bed and laid back.

She was staying in Ginny's room, and the red-headed girl was already fast asleep across the way. Hermione gazed around her at the moving Quidditch posters eagerly waving before zooming off with a quaffle; at the framed picture of Harry and Ginny by the lake on Ginny's bedside table- Harry repeatedly laughing before kissing Ginny on the head; at Ginny's quiet breathing.

Hermione sighed. Frustrated, she picked up the book again. She couldn't rest knowing that there might be hidden secrets enclosed within the book.

Picking up a quill, Hermione tried carefully inscribing her name on the front page. While she hated to deface an antique by marking it as her own, perhaps there was some hidden magic. To her dismay, nothing happened.

Anxiously blowing a strand of unruly curly hair out of her face, Hermione began to grumble, "I _need_ to know what is inside, what was he planning? I need to learn-" suddenly there was a clicking sound and a glow seemed to stem from the book in her hands.

Fascinated, Hermione looked down at the volume. A small compartment seemed to be appearing on the spine. Hermione carefully pried open the small space with her fingers. A small card and a piece of folded parchment fluttered out of the book onto her lap.

Eagerly Hermione read the looped handwriting on the parchment:

_Ms. Granger, _

_I hope that you forgive me for what I fear may occur from my gift. However, I know that you and you alone had the capacity to induce what must occur. Use this well. _

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

_MCMXLIV_

In shock, she stared at the parchment in her hand. Finally Hermione reached out for the card and picked it up in her curious fingers. The instant her fingertips closed around the worn paper, Hermione felt the familiar and unpleasant tug on her navel as she was pulled away by a portkey.


	2. when i put the rose in my hair

**authors note**: right, well i thought i wasn't going to post another chapter of this until my other two in progress stories (paradise lost and il principe) had either finished or gotten pretty far along, but.. obviously i am going against that. PL is almost done (about one more chapter), so soon this and IP will be my only concerns (minus the occasional one shot or drabble that might find their way into my head).

anyway, thank you so much for the positive feedback on the last chapter! thank you especially to those readers who either read my other stories in the past, or who got inspired by this one to check the others out. it means a lot to me and i'm so happy. anyway, this chapter is well.. hm. first of all, its probably very rough. its rather early in the morning/late at night at the moment but i'm so bored/restless that i thought i would post it anyway. therefore, i KNOW that it will have a lot of grammar mistakes and rough edges. i'll try and fix it as soon as i can. feel free to rip it apart for all its worth.

plot-wise, well.. i'm hoping that this will work out. let me know what you think! i'm a little nervous, i won't lie. for all you Tom fans.. i'm sorry that he has not yet arrived! he will soon, we just have to establish Hermoine's place first! anyway.. here you go.

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chapter two: when i put the rose in my hair

_July 31, 1997_

Slowly Hermione felt herself lowered down and the spinning sensation to finally come to a halt. With a tug, she was thrown forward onto a cold marble floor.

"Uerghal," she moaned as she clutched her stomach. Hermione never really got used to some aspects of magic. The world shifted back and forth and blobs of colour swum before her eyes. Shaking her head, she finally got her vision to clear up.

Hermione looked around cautiously, leaning forward on her knees as she surveyed her surroundings. She was in some sort of ancient courtyard heavily influenced by Classical architecture. There were ionic columns on all sides, and Hermione could make out the distinctive pediment feature of Greek architecture. Carved statues of wild beasts and gods lined the frieze and were painted bright golds and reds.

There were plants and flowers surrounding her, deep rich greens that reminded her of papyrus and dark blue flowers that scattered across the cracked marble like spiders on a thin silk web. Despite the impeccable architecture, the garden had a decrepit and worn feel to it. The paint on the frieze and columns was faded and chipping, and cracks spread out like fire on the stone. While it still maintained the old elegance and grandeur it might have once held, the courtyard had a rotting atmosphere. It still glowed, however, with a deep golden light that reflected off a fountains watery surface and sparkled on the marble pathway. There was a slight cool breeze that penetrated the dry heat and somewhere off in the distance, Hermione thought she heard the sea.

Hermione was stunned. For once in her life, she had absolutely no answers. Stumbling to her feet, she carefully began to walk forward towards the building that surrounded her. She stepped through the colonnade and into the cooling shadows of the building. Hermione bit her lip uncertainly as she found herself in a dark corridor filled with art of all different eras. Baroque oil paintings hung next to High Classical statues, and that one piece really looked like a Raphael…

Hermione moved towards one particularly interesting statue to her left. A young girl with flowing curls seemed to be turning into air on one spot. The figure was so delicate that it seemed as if she would disappear into thin air. On his knees beneath her was a young man reaching upwards, as if he could grab her and keep her grounded. As she moved her fingers closer to the figures however, a voice interrupted her study.

"Excuse me," Hermione jumped and whipped around, "but can I help you?" the speaker was an old man. He was short, at least two inches smaller than Hermione, and possessed a long white beard that rivalled Dumbledore's. He was wearing a dark blue robe that was elegantly folded and draped around him. Hermione stared unabashedly until he spoke again, "Miss? What are you doing here?"

"I er," Hermione stuttered, "I…I think that Albus Dumbledore sent me." Immediately the man's eyes began to widen.

"Albus…Albus Dumbledore? Of course…" he seemed to mumble to himself, stroking his beard, "Curious, very curious indeed. Do you have your library card, then?"

"Library card?" Hermione replied confused. Suddenly she remembered the small card that had been the portkey. It was still clutched tightly in her left hand. Embarrassed, Hermione realized that it had become wrinkled and a little damp with sweat. Holding it up, Hermione read with shock what was written on the small card:

_Library of Alexandria, Founded in 293 BCE_

_Property of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Wide eyed, Hermione watched as Dumbledore's name written in his same loopy handwriting disappeared and was replaced with small neat letters, _Hermione Jean Granger_.

"But, I thought the Library of Alexandria was destroyed hundreds of years ago!" exclaimed Hermione. She suddenly felt very light-headed. Being transported to another country by Dumbledore was one thing, but arriving in a hallowed and supposedly destroyed _library_?

The old man nodded, "In a way. The Wizarding world and the Muggle one were not always quite so separate, which led to many interesting ancient mythological tales. The Library used to be a place where scholars, Wizard and Muggle alike could convene to research and discuss the ways of the Universe. The library faced great threat though from the destruction of the Muggle world…Julius Caesar was a particularly tricky problem," he paused as if remembering dear old Julius himself, "We destroyed the library from the Muggle world, not from the Wizarding. For it's own protection, to the Muggles this site appears as an archaeological graveyard. To us, it is still the greatest library and research centre in the world. It's just a secret, library cards are highly valued," He smiled at Hermione and turned away, gesturing for her to follow, "You will find in these walls whatever it is that you desire to learn. Dumbledore obviously had plans for you if he gave you his old card."

Hermione followed mutely behind the wizard as he led her through the building, continuing to talk, "We have, essentially, everything. Of course, the fire did destroy some of our most ancient and precious texts years and years ago, but since then we've kept everything in order and managed to acquire just about everything else…Ah!" he stopped suddenly before a door, "Here we are at last. Well, Ms. Granger, happy searching," he paused as he scrutinized her face. Finally he cryptically continued, "I hope you find what you are looking for," stepping aside, the man allowed Hermione to enter through the small door.

Hermione felt her knees weaken; she was standing in a spacious room filled with books. There had obviously been Wizard engineering at some point, for there was no physical way the small Classical looking building she had seen from the outside could harbour this incredible space. There were moving staircases that seemed to float in the air around her as wizards scrambled from shelf to shelf. Books were stacked up beyond where she could see, the covered the walls and lay all round her filling the air with the musty and rich scent of old parchment and knowledge. The room was dark, with golden light filtering in through faded stained glass windows that permeated the Classical façade.

Hermione was in heaven…ignoring the fact that she still had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do. Awkwardly, she moved forward to the nearest shelf. As she ran her fingers along the worn spines, she suddenly noticed that a small Roman numeral was engraved at the end of each shelf. Hermione felt the familiar jolt of being on the edge of discovering some new knowledge, and she crackled with the excitement. Eagerly, she whipped out the letter from Dumbledore once again.

_MCMXLIV_

Hermione smiled to herself, this was definitely a start. She turned and observed the shelf to her left, in which the number _MCMXCVII_ was carefully inscribed. Hermione bit her lip as she attempted to recall the ordering of Roman Numerals. M…that was definitely one thousand. C was a hundred, X was ten, V was five, and I was obvious. So currently, Hermione reasoned, she was standing in row 1997. And she was looking for 1944. Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione delved labyrinthine wanderings of the stacks, weaving in and out amongst the towering shelves of ancient tomes.

Finally, about an hour or so later Hermione found herself standing before the shelf engraved with the exact numeral she was looking for. Pleased with herself, she took a moment to sit down and rest at a table nestled amongst the crowded stacks. The tabletop was bare, safe for a few scattered quills and a small stone statue of a lion that graced the centre. It was a funny looking creature, coiled and poised as if about to spring. Yet the face was carved without the air of a predator on the hunt, but with a playful smirk. _Since when do lions smirk? _Hermione questioned wandering thoughts.

Shaking her head slightly, she turned back to the task at hand. She had cleverly found her way to the right shelf, but there was still one problem- it was at least a few dozen feet high and absolutely packed with hundreds of books. Plus, Hermione still had no idea at all what she was looking for or _why_ exactly Dumbledore had sent her to this place anyway.

Groaning, she leaned her head against the hard wood of the table in despair.

"Should start looking."

Hermione bolted upright and glanced around, looking for the source of the small but insistent voice. Finding no one, she settled a little discomforted back into her desperation and unwillingness to move position.

"Running out of time," spoke the voice again. Hermione warily began to look around her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was definitely no one else near her little aisle, yet the voice seemed to be right next to her. Hermione frowned slightly before her eyes focused in on the small lion statue. The tiny stone creature was sitting back on its hind legs while idly licking one paw.

Hermione stared in shock, "Did you…did you just talk to me?"

The lion yawned wearily, "You're a witch, get over it." His voice was raspy and seemed constantly on the edge of a growl.

Hermione lowered herself to eye level with the small creature, "Er…right. You said to start looking, but I have no idea what to look for!"

The lion seemed to sigh as he preened his long mane, "How did you get to this section?"

"The Roman numerals that Dumbledore gave me…they match up with the aisle number."

"Same way."

Hermione frowned, "What? He only gave me the one number…"

"Really?" the lion seemed to raise one eyebrow in mock disbelief. Hermione bit her lip as she took out the piece of parchment again. How could she, Hermione Granger, miss something that a talking stone statue picked up on? She thought angrily. Huffing in frustration, Hermione scrutinized the piece of paper for clues.

"Are there…more numbers hidden in here?" Hermione questioned. When there was no reply, she turned her gaze back to the lion who now was frozen again impassively. "Fine then," Hermione mumbled grumpily, "Don't help. Let's see…if we start at the Ms., there's an M…maybe all of the letters?" Hermione mused to herself as she grabbed one of the scattered quills on the table and began scribbling on the note.

_**M**__s. Granger, _

_**I**__ hope that you forg__**i**__**v**e __**m**__e for what __**I**__ fear __**m**__ay o__**cc**__ur fro__**m**__** m**__y g__**i**__ft. Howe**v**er, __**I**__ felt that you and you alone had the __**c**__apa__**ci**__ty to __**i**__ndu__**c**__e what __**m**__ust o__**cc**__ur. Use th__**i**__s well. _

_S__**i**__n__**c**__erely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Satisfied, Hermione put all the letters together to equal _MIIVMIMCCMMIVICCIICCCIIC_. Chewing thoughtfully on the end of the quill, Hermione began to convert the lengthy number and finally came out with the much more simplified 5615. Smiling to herself, she leapt back to the original shelf. Noticing that the bottom most shelf was marked with an I, Hermione gaped upwards at the towering expanse of the bookcase. It reached up at least hundreds of feet and Hermione really couldn't actually tell where it ended, the top got so lost in the clutter of bookshelves and flying papers above her head.

"He couldn't _possibly_ want me to go up thousands of shelves!" Hermione exclaimed ruefully. Nonetheless, she began to dutifully start up a nearby ladder. Days later, or at least it felt that way to Hermione, she managed to reach the seemingly mile high shelf. To her dismay, it was still filled with books.

"How on earth am I supposed to carry any one of these back down, even if I _do _figure out which book I want?" Hermione exclaimed in dismay.

In the distance, Hermione could here a very faint but now familiar growling voice shout, "_Wrong shelf_!"

Wrong…shelf? The little stupid statue had waited until she had climbed almost a bloody mile into thin air to tell her it was the _wrong shelf_?! Hermione clenched her teeth together exasperated, knowing that if she lost her temper up here there was a good chance that she could fall and quite possibly end up as interesting new art for the library's floor. Grumbling, Hermione started to make her way back down the ladder, swearing that if the lion were lying and it _were_ the shelf up there, she would quite personally blow him to smithereens.

When she finally got down to the floor again, Hermione brushed her hands off before placing them angrily on her hips, "What do you mean, _wrong shelf?_" she growled out at the tiny statue.

The lion seemed to smirk, "Doing it wrong. Five up, six in." Hermione narrowed her eyes at the figurine. Moving back over to the shelf again, Hermione counted five shelves up, and six books in. Her finger rested on the spine of a large tome, covered with dust. Curious, Hermione pulled the book out from the shelf and nearly staggered under its weight.

Setting it down on the table, Hermione eagerly cracked it open hoping to instantly glean whatever information left inside for her. Scrawled into the front page was a single sentence that let her know she had found the correct book.

_Good luck, Hermione_.

This time, however, the writing was not the familiar looped swirls of Dumbledore. In fact…"this almost looks like…_mine_," Hermione mused aloud in shock.

Swallowing nervously, she flicked the pages forward to the fifteenth page. Before she could begin to read she felt a slight nudging against her hand. The stone lion had pranced over towards her and was rubbing his small head against her palm. Hermione quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Might want to take me with you," offered the creature as he hopped into her lap.

Hermione was taken aback, "Take you with me? But I'm not even going anywhere…"

The lion did not respond, but proceeded to hop into her open pocket and snuggle deep inside. Hermione felt him become stiff and heavy again as he lost animation. Shrugging, she turned her attention back to the book before her.

On the page was what appeared to be a poem written elaborately in Latin. Hermione gently blew off some of the dust that covered the page and read,

AVDIO QVID VETERES OLIM MONEATIS AMICI

PONE SERAM COHIBE SED QVIS CVSTODIET IPSOS

CVSTODES CAUTA EST ET AB ILLIS INCIPIT UXOR

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, "quis custodiet ipsos custodies?" she murmured to herself. Before she could ponder what exactly what the words meant, what was going on, or why the book had suddenly become effulgent, she felt a familiar tugging sensation as she was pulled once again into thin air.


End file.
